


Permanent

by Sway



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scream he hears that first night at the CIA facility is unlike anything he has ever heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanent

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing in the Marvel sandbox. The title is a song by David Cook, and so are the lyrics used. I found the song on [this awesome fanmix](http://causticammo.livejournal.com/67292.html).
> 
> Author's Note: This is my first fic in the fandom, and I've only seen the movie in German, so... bare with me on this one. Many thanks to [mander3_swish](http://mander3-swish.livejournal.com/) for polishing this up for me. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

_Will you think that you`re all alone_  
When no one`s there to hold your hand?  
And all you know seems so far away  
And everything is temporary  
Rest your head  
I`m permanent 

Being a telepath has its perks. Sometimes it seems more like a hidden talent than a mutation. Especially when it comes to dealing with government official. Knowing who will screw you over and who is remotely honest can save lives.

Being a telepath also has some downsides. It doesn't come with office hours and an off-switch. It's always there; like a door that never fully closes, and the thoughts, the memories, the emotions are a constant draft, sometimes cold, sometimes warm and soothing.

Of course Charles has leaned to control it. He has learned how to not use his ability. Even though the door in his mind is always ajar, he has learned not to listen, to turn his back on what people don't want him to know. It simply isn't fair. It's not fair to them that he can roam their thoughts, that he can see behind the curtain, plant and even erase things if the situation requires it.

But it's not fair to him either. That door isn't one-way. Sometimes thoughts come to him, especially at night, when his defenses are down.

*

The scream he hears that first night at the CIA facility is unlike anything he has ever heard. It's so loud in his mind that he almost mistakes it for his own voice.

It's not him and for a second he wonders if it is human at all. The emotion of it has surpassed pain and anger; it's pure agony, white hot and bottomless.

Charles rises from his bed, which is nothing but a semi-comfortable cot, and pads out into the hallway. It's half past three but the military makes sure time is hard to tell time in here. The neon lights are burning bright as he makes his way down the corridor.

He greets one of the MPs on duty with a courteous nod and gives him an unheard order to forget he has seen him.

The screams in his head become louder. He doesn't just hear him, he feels them, too. His chest aches with them, his throats hurts, and his arms are tingling. They paralyze him and he can hardly put one foot in front of the other.

When he reaches the door at the end of the hall, tears are running down his cheeks. The pain raging in his mind is only part of the cause. The rest are due to pure physical exhaustion, trying to get here.

For a moment, Charles contemplates knocking first, but he knows it's of no use. Instead, he turns the door handle and pushes, letting the harsh light stream into the room. Closing the door behind him, Charles can barely see a thing. There is a floodlight outside the window, casting a dim, blue light through the curtain.

Erik stirs in his sleep, but he doesn't wake up. His screams are louder than ever and Charles has to concentrate even harder to block them out. He knows that Erik is dreaming because as soon as the screams subside, images take their place.

Images of barbed wire, of fences and walls. Of people in gray clothes that that are far too big on their starved and maimed bodies, a cast-iron sign reading “Arbeit macht frei” taunting them. Of a small office that could be like any other if it wasn't for the torture chamber behind bullet proof glass. There is no rack, of course, no iron maiden. There are other ways to torture someone, especially when you're just a boy and your mother is held at gunpoint.

Tears stream down Charles' face as he begins to understand. He understands why Erik would have rather drowned than let go of that submarine. And why – no matter what will happen – nothing will ever keep him.

Charles isn't sure whether this is a perk or a downside of being able to read people's minds; that he can get to know them within the span of a glimpse.

Within a few shuddering breaths, he realizes that Erik has seen enough fences and walls for a lifetime. He has already been branded and classified. Never again.

Slowly, Charles walks over to the bed and sinks down the mattress. Again, Erik stirs, his hands clench into the sheets and he whimpers in his sleep, the sound now only an echo of the screams – his own screams – he is dreaming about.

He reaches out a hand to touch Erik's bare shoulder, fingers discovering old and new scars.

“Erik,” he thinks as quietly, as subtly as he can.

“Erik.” This time, he uses his words.

Erik gives a start as he awakes, blue eyes shining wild and untamed. “What are you doing here?”

Charles tries a smile and hopes he can see it. “You were dreaming very loudly.” He taps a finger against his temple.

With an exhausted sigh, Erik slumps back onto his pillow, running a hand over his face. “I haven't had this dream in a while. Thought I'd... forgotten.”

They both know that he is lying and that Charles knows the truth.

Again, Charles reaches out for him and Erik's eyes follow his hand with a mixture of fascination and fear.

“Don't worry,” Charles assures him as he places his fingers against Erik's temple. “This won't hurt.”

“I'm here now,” he tells him, and because they are the only ones to hear it, he adds: “You don't need to be scared anymore.”

Wide-eyed, Erik stares at him. He relaxes slowly as Charles soothes the storm in his mind. The tension in his shoulders eases a little and he lets out a shuddering breath.

No, Erik doesn't need to be scared. But Charles is. Even from afar the other man's thoughts and memories have scared him. Now that he is close, now that he sees them even clearer, they terrify him. Imagining what Erik has gone through as a boy while he himself has been sheltered and pampered is... it's a monstrosity.

He could make it better. He could not only ease the pain, he could make it go away completely. He could make Erik forget.

No, he can't.

For one, this isn't like making that security guard forget about seeing him in the hall, or making a beautiful girl forget they spent the night so she won't be upset when he doesn't call. Erik's memories are rooted so firmly in his brain, some of them buried deep down in his subconscious, that taking them would cause unforeseeable damage.

Not only that, erasing those memories would erase part of Erik's personality. As gruesome as they are, they made him. They are the foundation of who he is today. Part of him is that horror, the pain. He is that rage.

So Charles can only take the edge off his dream, and only for tonight. They will have to go from there.

“Try to get some sleep. We have long days ahead of us.” As he withdraws his hand, he feel equally exhausted, and the mere thought of stumbling back to his room makes his body ache.

With a groan, he rises from the bed, and he already has his hand on the doorknob when Erik speaks... no, thinks.

“Stay.” He turns around and even in the dim light, he can make out the expression on Erik's face, and it's like he's looking at the twelve year old boy and not a grown man in his thirties. “Please.”

“Of course.”

As he approaches the bed, Erik turns on his side, facing away from him, making room. The CIA obviously hasn't considered that these beds might need to be shared.

The blanket barely covers them both as Charles settles down next to him. Out of pure reflex he wraps his arm around Erik's shoulder. He feels Erik shivering as he inches closer.

“It's going to be alright.”

Erik stiffens in his embrace. He is still adjusting to the fact that Charles can roam his thoughts like that. He turns as much as he can to look at him. “You don't know what it was like.”

“I know.” Charles tightens his grip and buries his face against Erik's shoulders, afraid that if he looks at him any longer, he might hear more than he should. “I've seen it.”

Erik nods and covers Charles' hand with his own.

The bond between them, the thin silver thread which had begun to form in the icy water of the ocean, becomes stronger, tying them together.

They are brothers in arms. And more than that.

They are two sides of the same coin and if they don't hold on to each other, who will?

 

_I know he's living in hell_  
Every single day  
And so I ask, oh God  
Is there some way for me to take his place?  
And when they say it's all touch and go  
I wish I could make it go away 


End file.
